


Effete

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma reminds Erik exactly what he's missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effete

The spoon bends easily in his hand; he barely needs to flex his fingers. He can lift the caddy that holds the iced champagne, can bend the oddly placed wrench and set of tools he finds hidden behind a chair.

And yet when he removes the helmet, and tries to find that place _there is more to you than pain and anger. I've seen it_ he struggles and shakes and _god damn everything_ he can barely lift a pen or a goblet or the bolts from the door he's slammed shut behind him.

 _Oh my dear friend, we do not._

He clenches his teeth and raises his hands, the dark of the sky lit only by the stars that dare peek around the clouds that dribble downward, fog licking at his damp hair. There was a satellite dish once, and a place that he could find only with Charles' help.

Erik (Magneto, remember) spits and allows the air he's holding in to fizzle out, his lungs deflating like an empty paper sack. The bench is still sitting there; _where is the man who tried to lift a sub?_

"Hiding behind the past?"

Emma slinks to his side and he clenches a fist, controlling the urge to punch her in her face. The diamonds slide over her like water and she laughs. "You might consider putting that helmet back on, Erik. I may not be him, but I can read you as easily as if you spoke."

He turns to her, his hand rising to caress her icy face. "My dear girl, you are more powerful than you think." She cocks her head, her shiny skin shifting back to human flesh. "Oh?"

Erik's hand twitches and Emma is slammed back into the defunct bench, the metal on her clothing perfect conduits for his _rage is the only thing I know and need, Charles_ power.

The arms of the bench wrap around her legs and torso and she sighs, long suffering. "I think I've seen this somewhere before, Magneto." Her hair blows in the breeze - blonde, not brown and where are the blue eyes, so deep and she's laughing at him.

He puts a foot on the bench, and leans in over her, the hand on her face again. Her body shimmers, tries to shift, but the arms of the bench tighten and she gives up, merely from curiosity - he wonders if that's true. "You're strong enough to give me what I need in order to make this," he flicks the fingers of his left hand at the dead lamp post next to them, and it bends with a shriek, painful and angry, "happen. You're a gift, Emma."

His mouth is on hers, briefly, intangibly. "I wouldn't press my luck if I were you." The words are hissed and he turns, his simple black clothing blending in with the night as easily as he's always done.

She struggles; he'll let her go eventually.

Erik picks up the helmet from the ground, tucking it under his arm. He follows the path that leads to the place they've chosen to hide this month, and lifts it to his head, his eyes catching sight of a break in the clouds. He hesitates, but only for -

 _You can find it again, if you want it._

A broken, twisted grin; his teeth shine in the black, reflecting the stars that are still braving the fog. "I am who I am, Charles; I learned that very well at your side."

He ignores the burn in his throat and the ache in his head and the wetness - no.

 _Erik. I miss -_

Erik - Magneto - slides the helmet back on, and slips into the fog, disappearing quickly as the forbidden unfinished projected thought is cut off with the skill of a knife.


End file.
